Take My Breath Away
by Impaladreams
Summary: Summary: The boys hole up in a quiet backwater motel, hoping for an uneventful day to catch up on their sleep and laundry. Some days however, it's not just the Supernatural that's out to get you...Hurt Dean Caring Sam. It's all Kripke's, I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1

Take My Breathe Away by Impaladreams

Chapter 1

"Come on Sleeping Beauty, time to wake up, we're home…Shake a leg, Sammy."

He grimaced as his gaze slid over the until recently gleaming windscreen, and across the hood of his newly restored, now dust covered, bug splattered, black '67 Impala. They cruised slowly past the 'Business as Usual' sign into the parking lot of the Far Horizons Motel, throaty engine rumbling low and the gravel crunching in the crisp dawn air.

He crooned to his most prized possession. "I'm sorry baby, I promise I'll make it up to you. Couple more days, we'll be back at the Roadhouse and I swear I'll give you the works, wash, wax 'n' polish, black up those tires, polish up your chrome, I know it's not been easy on you. Hell, I'll even try to get Sammy's spit stains off the window." He cast a glance over the scaffolding and boards, running the length of the single-storey building.

"You know I didn't mean to give you away to that sneaky, car-jacking, mind-bending, psychic freak." He shuddered at the memory. "Though he definitely had the right idea, maybe there's a future for Boy Wonder here if he can get a grip on this freaky, psychic, mind control gig, eh, Sam?" He glanced across the wide bench seat at the semi-prone body, sprawled awkwardly, head propped up against the window. "Chicks, cars, money, the abuse of power – it's a wonderful thing. What do you say, Sammy?" He glanced over at the tangle of arms and legs sprawled seemingly everywhere.

Sam groaned, stirring from his slumber as the change in engine sound and the rising volume of his brothers' voice penetrated the fog surrounding his consciousness. He lurched awake as _Black Sabbaths' Paranoid_ suddenly filled the car, Dean smacking out beats on the wheel, delighted at his brothers' startled reaction.

"Gimme a break, dude." He mumbled, rearranging his limbs as he straightened in the seat, wiping the trickle of saliva from the corner of his mouth. He flinched as the forgotten cast on his right forearm clipped his lip.

"Freakin' arm, freakin' cast…itches to hell and back." He groaned, reaching out to snap off the radio, letting his head roll backwards in a vain attempt to relieve the cramps gained during five hours of uninterrupted sleep in a car too small to cater for his overly long body. He stretched, silently wondering why the only place he ever got a good sleep was whilst slouched in the front bench seat of the classic black beauty, with his big brother at the wheel.

Dean cut the engine, still smirking, as he coasted silently into an empty bay in the rear of the motels reception. Rolling his shoulders and letting his head hang low for a moment before, he reached back to rub stiff neck muscles. Eyes scrunched tight as he attempted to stifle a yawn.

"Dude, I'm beat. Two days on the road, I need more than a quick coffee stop. I'll go get us a room and we'll stay here today. It's bang smack in the middle of Nowheresville, so it might give the cops a chance to find something a little less 'Winchester' to look for. We can make tracks tonight or in the morning."

"Well, if you'd manage to keep your pants on a little more often and use your upstairs brain just once in a while, maybe we wouldn't have half the state cops on our tail."

Hurt filtered briefly across the heavily stubbled face. "Man, how was I to know she was the Sheriffs' god-daughter, it's not like she came with a warning label. She wanted me, she was looking for comfort, who am I to deny a fair maiden in distress."

A flash of a grin joined the now raised eyebrow and sparkling green eyes.

"Her only distress came from the bottom of six beers with tequila chasers. I'm surprised she stayed conscious when you left the bar. Oh god, she did stay conscious didn't she?" Sam laughed, easily ducking the open palm aimed at the back of his head.

"She was most definitely, very conscious… conscious and extremely acrobatic, not to mention flexible. In fact she…"

"Enough dude!" Sam interrupted, "Way too much information, way too early." Shaking his head in mock disbelief, hiding the relief he'd felt seeing his brothers' return to form. The recent loss of their father had weighed heavily on both of them but Dean had been filled with more than just the pain of loss, Sam knew he blamed himself completely for their fathers' death.

The comforting screech of the car door opening was matched by leather creaking against leather as Dean stepped from the car, chuckling to himself and pulling his worn wallet from the back pocket of his mud-splattered jeans.

"It'll give you a chance to do the laundry this afternoon," he shot over his shoulder, "while I go earn us some money. We passed a Pool Hall a couple of blocks back on the way in."

Sam huffed as he pulled at his jacket. Then raked his fingers wearily through his long, dark bangs, pushing them back from his eyes and massaging his head slowly.

'_That first shower is so mine_.' He thought, smiling to himself as he watched his big brother stumble and miss his footing on the low step up to the office, betraying his tiredness.

Dean shot a quick look back over his shoulder, trying to determine whether his younger brother had caught the trip. Sam smirked and waved, "Smooth, dude." he mouthed to his retreating back, laughing softly as he received the expected one fingered salute.

He groped clumsily into the doors' side pocket, fumbling for the single chopstick he had grown so attached to over the last few weeks, inserting it into the top end of his plaster cast and squirming as he tried to reach the elusive spot he could never quite scratch to his entire satisfaction.

He was still engrossed in ministering to his arm as the car door creaked open.

"We're down the end at the back, number 29. Leave your arm alone, Sammy, you'll scratch it and it'll get infected." He grinned, "The lovely Muriel has given us an upgrade, due to the work going on up front. Something about the 'Hunters' Lodge'"

Sam rolled his eyes, placing the wooden comforter into his inside pocket, the big engine sparking to life as the low roar split the early morning silence. Dean manoeuvred the big car out into the back lot, pulling up outside their room.

"Home, sweet home" he muttered, rolling wearily from the car. "Come on, Sam, I call first shower." He staked his claim as he made his way to the rear of the car, opening the trunk and hauling two bulging grips out onto the dusty gravel, reaching further in for the smaller holdall containing their small arsenal, complete with enormous salt canister and several flasks of Holy Water.

"I got the bags, open the door." He flipped the keys through the air and Sam's long fingers flashed, plucking the carved wooden fob from the air mid-flight. He fumbled, left-handed with the door lock, clutching his battered laptop under his broken right arm.

The familiar creak and thud of the trunk lid closing, followed by the steady crunch of gravel under heavy footsteps, told him his brother was not far behind. The lock reluctantly turned and the door swung inwards to reveal a large, dimly lit room, little of the bright daylight filtered through the thick curtains hanging limply across the large windows and Sam groped for the switch.

Sudden light flooded the room revealing the two queen-size beds, separated by a low-level cupboard; two wicker chairs sitting either side of a round glass topped table, and a long, low drawer unit topped by a small television and coffee machine. Sam blinked as he took in the scene before him, glancing back over his shoulder, trying to catch his brothers' reaction to the reams of ruched lace and ribbon that awaited them.

"Did you say 'Hunter's Lodge'? This looks more like the 'Barbie Suite' to me, dude! Did you pay extra for this upgrade? Cause it's not really working for me!" Sam failed to hide his grin.

He entered, turning slowly, eyebrows arching in the middle as his face registered amazement and wrinkling his nose as he entered the cloud of lavender scented air that failed to entirely mask the strong smell of fresh paint that lay in ambush just beyond the doorway.

Dean shouldered the bags through the door, blinking his eyes against the pastel pink and white vista that lay before him, gagging as the heavily scented air engulfed him.

.

"Jeez Sammy, open the windows, this place reeks." He hauled his holdall wearily onto the bed nearest the door and threw his brothers' grip, which landed atop the matching bed.

His eyes tracked around the room, surveying with horror the pink walls sporting delicate cross-stitches nestled into white lace frames, setting the scheme for the entire room. White lace, overlaying pink nylon flowed over the wide beds, with matching headboards, alternately topped by pink then white ribbons. The newly painted white ceiling hosted the large, fish bowl shaped lace and tasselled centre light. Lace doilies and runners covered the tabletops, looking down he observed his dusty black Cat boots submerged in the deep pink shag pile.

"They must'a hired the set designer from 'Sweet Valley High' then whacked 'em out on hallucinogens to come up with this." He shook his head. "Man this sucks, big time."

The closing of the bathroom door brought him back to his senses and he heard the low ring of his brothers' laughter as the bolt slid into place. "Dude, I called first shower." He huffed indignantly, recognising defeat even as the words left his mouth.

"Yeah, but you should know by now that possession is nine tenths of the law… and I so possess this bathroom. You shouldn't be such a drama queen over such a pretty, color scheme… Maybe Barbie's' big in these parts!" Sams' laughter was drowned out as the sound of water running, and the hum of the extractor fan whirred its way to life.

"Barbie's big in all the Right Parts." Dean called back, a lewd grin creeping over his face as he was momentarily distracted.

"Don't use all the hot water," He hollered, snapping back, glowering menacingly at the impassive white door blocking him from his long awaited shower.

"Don't go getting your cast wet again. In fact, come out and I'll cover it up with a plastic bag for you." He tried one final time to extricate his brother from the alpha shower position.

His brother's muffled laughter rose above the running water. "Nah. Thanks but I got it covered. Nice try though."

"Yeah, bite me!" Dean mumbled as he shrugged off his jacket and shirt and rolled his neck, wincing at the cracks that followed his movements. The smell of lavender and paint was overpowering. He moved to the window and propped it open, again pulling the curtains to and noting with renewed horror the heavy, dusky pink cotton with lacy overlay. He stepped back wiping his hands on his worn jeans to remove the rough feel of the nylon lace.

Moving back to the bed he opened the shoulder grip, pulling out the huge, razor sharp Bowie knife, testing the blade almost unconsciously with his thumb, and lovingly placed it under his pillow. The salt canister followed as he automatically ran lines along the windows and door, a ritual drilled into him by his dad for as long as he could remember.

That simple act opened up the floodgates as thoughts of his father rushed in, a jumble of memories, jostling for position. A wave of weariness passed over him and he sat heavily on the bed, dropping his head into his hands as he slumped, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers knotted in his short, spiky, light brown hair. A shudder ran through him as he sucked in deep breaths, trying to stem the tide of emotion that threatened to engulf him.

"Not now, please, not now" he silently begged, as hot tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. "I gotta keep my game face on, I can't do this now." The lump in his throat made it difficult to breathe, harder to swallow.

"Suck it up, soldier." The familiar words echoed through the memories, and they instantly grounded him. He almost jumped to attention, feeling the bands of panic recede, losing their hold on him, and his crumbling walls strengthened as he falteringly regained control. His fathers' words were still able to pull him back from the edge.

He sat shaking, no longer fighting so hard for breath as his heartbeat gradually slowed, willing Sam to stay longer, to use all the hot water, needing the time to pull it all back together and to cover his tracks. He felt so tired. Once he'd slept like the dead, Sam the one having nightmares, tossing and turning all night long, but not now. Nighttime and sleep had become his personal enemy.

"Jeez, I must be watching too much friggin' Oprah." He threw the salt canister back into the bag and settled down to clean the weapons resting inside. Grabbing a T-shirt from his grip, he scrubbed it roughly across his eyes. Then he looked up and was vaguely shocked by the image reflected back at him from the full-length, lace-trimmed mirror set on the wall beside the bathroom door. Red-rimmed eyes, stared back at him from sunken sockets and dark smudges betrayed his need for sleep. He watched as his hand reached up to scratch at the two-day stubble darkening his lower face, then the hand coursed up to his forehead, gingerly prodding the tender bruise that stood out against his too pale skin.

His mouth opened as he ran his tongue lightly over the split upper lip, another parting gift from his most recent bar fight. A small smile flickered across his worn face, "Just for a while it'd be nice to live a life that wasn't totally buckets of crazy."

He tracked the hand as it moved to massage the back of his neck, "Then again, what'd be the fun in that." His eyebrow raised in salute. He was back, the walls firmly in position, ready to face Sam again; ready to fulfil his role of 'awesome big brother' who could right all wrongs and keep the bad things at bay. '_Yeah, like who am I trying to kid, I did a real bang up job looking after dad.'_ He snarled, angrily pushing the thoughts away, unwilling to return to the forbidden planet of his emotions.

The low rush of running water stopped and the sound of Sam towelling himself off brought Dean to his feet. Cleaning the weapons could wait, maybe he wasn't quite ready to face Sam yet.

"Dude, I got no clean clothes, Muriel, up in reception said there's a laundry room two doors along. I'm gonna throw in a load now, s'take your time."

He reached into his front pocket, pulling out a handful of change and calling loudly. "Sammy, you hear me? I'm gonna put some laundry on, I got no clean clothes."

The swish of the shower curtain pulling back was interrupted by a thud, a crash, a yelp and then a string of curses. "Goddamn it all to hell 'n back, son-of-a-bitchin'-freakin' arm."

"Sammy, you okay? Answer me Sam, what happened?" Deans' voice rose a level. "You don't answer I'll have to knock this friggin' door down and there goes another damage deposit. Sammy?"

The voice sounded grumpily through the door. "I'm okay, Dean, I just tripped getting outta the shower and knocked my arm is all, just gimme a minute, I'm okay."

"Lemme take a look at your arm, Sam, how hard did you fall?"

"Dude I'm okay, just gimme a minute here okay. A little personal space wouldn't go amiss!" A soft groan accompanied the shuffle as Sam hauled himself up from the floor; the rustle of the shower curtain moving did nothing to conceal the gasp of pain from behind the door.

Dean waited, poised like a guard dog, and determined to see proof that his brother was unharmed. Another muffled curse was followed by the scrape of the bolt pulling back and the door swung open to reveal a very wet Sam, with a blood stained towel wrapped around his waist and holding his injured, still plastic-bag-wrapped right arm across his stomach. His left hand clutched a smaller blood stained hand towel to his forehead.

"It's nothing," he glared, "There's lots of blood cause I cut my head and was soaking wet so it spread, but I'm okay." He tried to pull out of his brothers' reach. Dean had other ideas, having slipped into full-on big brother mode.

"Sit on the bed, Sam, I'm going nowhere till I get a look at your head. How hard did you hit your arm?"

"I told you I'm alright. I just jarred my arm against the bath and caught my head on the sink. I slipped, grabbed the curtain and fell out the bath, that's it, that's all." He huffed angrily.

"Don't go getting' all prissy with me princess, I didn't push you. Here let me take a look." He reached in and gently prised the towel away from his brothers shaking hand. "Sit still, Sam," he used a corner of the towel to carefully wipe the still dripping hair away from the head wound. "Sorry man," he muttered quietly, catching the wince of pain his brother tried to conceal.

"Well," he ground out after several long moments. "I think you'll get away without stitches, keep that towel pressed up there while I get the first aid kit." He turned towards the shoulder bag, rummaging amongst the weapons for the large first aid pack. "Then I'll take a look at your arm. I guess I can add the blood stained towels to the laundry pile."

Dean plucked the sterile dressing from the kit and unwrapped it, placing it gently over the small but deep cut, taping it securely into place. "Where'd ya hit it?" he asked as he held out his hands to inspect the plastic wrapped limb.

"I just bent it back a little when I landed, is all." Sam said in a small voice, "It just aches, look I can still move my fingers." His face crumpled in pain as he tried to prove his point. A trail of water dripped from the wet plastic to further dilute the bloodstains on the once white towel that wrapped his lower body as he presented his arm for inspection. "Okay so I can't move them too much, but then I couldn't before either."

Dean sighed as he gently peeled the dripping plastic bag back from the grimy cast, from beneath his long lashes he silently observed his brother for signs of pain. He carefully examined the protruding fingers for any fresh swelling.

"There's not much I can do with it, Sam…I could gettcha some ice but I don't think it'd work with the cast, dude. I guess, keep it still and up high and we'll check it for swelling later." He paused. "Look, just get changed outta those wet towels and stay in bed, I'm gonna throw the washing on and then I'll swing by the 7/11, 'n pick us up some coffee and breakfast. Then, I'm having the worlds longest shower but unlike you, I won't be practising my High School Musical dance moves when I get out." He moved away from Sams' long reach, grinning.

"Quit being a mother hen, dude, I'm okay, I'm getting up." Sam reached out to his holdall, struggling one-handed with the zip. Silently, Dean pulled the zip tight.

"Sure you're fine, Sam." He stated with eyebrow arched. "Look, why don't you just take it easy this morning and feed your inner geek. Check out the net. See if you can find out what's got Ellen all fired up, why she wants to see us? Free airtime's part of the upgrade." He laughed, as Sam reached for the laptop. "Maybe I could give you my login for '_Red Hot Mexican Mamas._' Mind you, that definitely won't help the swelling go down!" His eyebrows danced suggestively as Sam shot him daggers.

He lowered his head in resignation, "There's just no hope for you, Dean. Gutter level the whole time, Jerk!"

Dean moved the laptop out of his brothers' reach, smirking. "Bitch! Get out of those wet towels first okay. Man, you are such a geek." He shook his head as Sam resumed his search through the bag, eventually coming up with clean white T-shirt and boxers.

"That's the last of my clean clothes, I gotta get some washing done too." Sam drawled.

It was Deans' turn to roll his eyes, "Nah, give it here, I'll throw a couple of loads on, you can do it for the next month…You don't think it a little extreme, throwing yourself outta the bath, just to avoid your turn doing the laundry?" He laughed, dodging the balled socks that flew toward his head.

He caught another glimpse of himself in the mirror, rubbing at tired eyes, '_Oh, that shower's so calling my name._' He paused to pull the sawn off shotgun from the weapons cache, automatically breaking it and feeding two salt-filled rounds down the barrels. He stuffed another couple into his grubby jeans pocket and slipped the shotgun into the grip alongside his dirty clothes, hoisting it over one shoulder and reaching for Sams' bag with his free hand.

"Better safe than sorry, Sammy." He smiled at Sam's questioning brow. "Man, everything I own needs washing, I'm thinking of re-enacting that old Levis' advert in the laundry room. I'll just strip me down to my boxers and throw everything else in the tubs!" He flashed a grin at Sam's look of abject horror.

"Dude, that image is so not working for me! You don't think you might stand out from the crowd just a little when you go for the coffee and donuts?" Sam queried.

"I always stand out from the crowd, Sammy, I thought you would have noticed that by now." He preened, "If you hear the shotgun, come running…I'll be back later." He called over his shoulder, eyeing the room with extreme distaste before glancing down carefully stepping over the salt line.

He pulled the door to behind him and sucked in a deep lungful of the crisp, early morning air, glad to be free of the cloying lavender and paint cocktail, and glanced lovingly at his weathered beauty as she sat, patiently, waiting to be called upon.

He gently patted the streamlined hood, pausing as he felt the last of the heat dissipate from the engine and shivered as the chilled air penetrated his creased T-shirt sending gooseflesh rising along his arms.

As recent memories replayed in his head his eyes grew distant; the warm sun beating down on his sweat-soaked neck, the weight of the iron pry bar heavy against his work gloves, the rising feelings of anguish and loss. The real physical pain as he felt his heart crushed, again and again as Sams words shattered his walls, needlessly telling him he was not okay. He knew he was not okay; he was so far from okay that nothing would ever be okay again!

Dad was gone and he wasn't coming back; his rock, his anchor, his protector. Sacrificed to bring him back from a place he should never have come back from.

He screwed his eyes shut, trying desperately to stop the memories, his face turned up as his breath became hitching gasps. He recognised again the moment the pain had become unbearable, like a release valve finally blowing, the pry bar crashed down onto the trunk of his beloved Impala, again and again the blows rained down, smashing, scarring, denting, tearing. Through it all she sat patiently, waiting, soaking up his pain until he crumpled exhausted to his knees, silent sobs wracking his weary frame.

"God, I miss you so bad, Dad." The words slipped quietly from between his lips as he came back to the present, lowering his head and wiping away the tears that tracked silently down his face. He felt the deep empty ache where his heart had once belonged, his misery palpable as he again clawed himself back from the abyss.

He winced, terrified at his lack of control, at his inability to suppress the emotions that continually lurked beneath the surface, waiting to be triggered at a moments notice, that left him trembling and exhausted.

'_Jeez, Sammy s'posed to be the overly-sensitive, in-touch-with-his-feminine-side one, not me… I gotta get a grip, I gotta get me some sleep, that's all it is, I'm just tired._' He reasoned with himself as he re-shouldered the bags heading for the laundry room. '_Maybe I'll pick up a bottle of Jack when I get the coffee. That should get the job done!_'

As the door swung shut behind him, he noted with relief the plain, white plaster walls and rust colored tile floor that betrayed no hint of either pink or lace. The room was small, cosy and warm. Three top-loaders rested against the far wall complete with plastic baskets, two huge tumble dryers, one atop the other sat imposing in the far corner. Three cream, wicker chairs were placed haphazardly in the middle of the room, loosely grouped around a low coffee table. The click and rush of the water heater flashing to life startled him, he located the source as coming from behind the white plank door in the back wall. That explained the pleasant warmth that filled the room.

He upended both grips, carefully stowing the shotgun out of sight. Sighing he dropped into the middle chair and began sorting through the two piles of dirty clothing. Whites to the right, darks to the left, he was tempted to peel off his filthy T-shirt and muddy jeans and add them to the piles but Sam was right, he might look a little conspicuous jogging through town in his boxers. He smiled at the thought, yawning wearily in the comforting warmth.

With two machines loaded he reached for the handful of change in his pocket. Carefully picking out coins for the washing powder dispenser, that sorted, he set about placing coins into the slots on the big industrial washers, pressing buttons to select the wash and start the programmes. He blinked owlishly, eyes sore, lids heavy, he yawned again and stretched, his back and neck cracking as the tense muscles slowly relaxed. Dean settled back into the chair, letting the familiar sounds of the machines working their way through their cycle flow over him, mesmerizing him with the monotonous rhythms.

He leant into the chair, sliding further down, letting his neck rest on the curved back, stretching out his long legs and crossing his booted feet at the ankles. He squirmed, finding the most comfortable position, snuggling down as tiredness got the better of him. '_Maybe I'll just rest my eyes for two minutes_.' He thought to himself as he slowly lost the battle to keep his lids open. A small part of him was mildly alarmed at just how comfortable and relaxed he felt in this small room with no windows, as all his usual defences disappeared in the realms of exhaustion.

Chapter Ends


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for the reviews and to all those who have added it to story alerts, I'm new to fan fiction, so I didn't realise the limit on story notes so I had to cut short them short at the beginning.

Take My Breath Away, is a four-chapter story, and will be posted on a weekly basis. It was my first ever story, written last year and originally posted on another site under my old pename – Janger. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the story and I would love to hear your views if you have time to leave a review.

Lots of hurt and disorientated Dean in this one…

**Take My Breath Away** by Impaladreams

Chapter 2

As Dean closed the door behind him and set out on his Laundromat mission, Sam leant back against the headboard allowing his head to roll stiffly from side to side, his good hand gingerly prodding at his newly dressed head wound. His eyes scrunched as shooting pains gleefully joined the dull ache that filled his entire head. A groan escaped from his lips as he allowed his defences to collapse, he was vaguely surprised at how easily he had escaped his brother in Mother Hen mode.

Leaning forward, Sam swung his long legs onto the floor, his bare toes gripping into the deep pink carpet as a wave of dizziness engulfed him. '_Whoa! Head rush._' He sucked in a deep breath waiting for the room to slow down, eyes screwed tightly shut. As the room stilled he reached behind for his t-shirt and pulled it carefully over his still damp hair, slipping into his boxers as he surveyed the room with a new sense of discomfort.

He rose slowly, padding silently towards the bathroom, and once inside, he bent and retrieved his discarded jeans and grimy T-shirt, balancing them under his cast clad arm as he poured a glass of water at the plastic marbled sink.

He grimaced as he studied his reflection, unable to resist another probe at the dressing and turned his head to the side noting the scratches and now fading bruises on his neck. They'd been sustained at the bridge in Guthrie several days before, attacked by another of the 'Special' children the Yellow-eyed Demon had plans for. Sam frowned, worrying again just exactly what that meant.

Turning to leave he noticed the pink and white, lace clad doll that sat impassively on the toilet cistern, her legs impaled into the spare toilet roll, hidden by her layered dress. '_Why would_…' He left the thought unfinished, shaking his head in bewilderment as he retraced his steps and flopped onto his bed, shuddering at the feel of the scratchy lace as it rustled beneath him. He quickly placed the water glass onto the nightstand and shrugged into his crumpled jeans.

Wincing, he reached across for the first aid kit lying open on his brothers' bed, sighing in relief as his searching fingers grasped the Tylenol bottle. He glared at the safety lid as he unsuccessfully tried to prise it open, unable to manage the press and twist one-handed. Frowning, he gripped the bottle between his knees and pressed down twisting and was rewarded after the third attempt with a click as the lid came free.

"Child-proof? More like Fort Knox," he grumbled to no one in particular, shaking out three tablets and swallowing them down, leaving the bottle lidless on the side.

Flipping the lid open on his laptop he settled onto the bed, his thoughts tuning in to research mode as he began his daily downloads.

*******

Soft snores accompanied the drone of the washing machines and steady rush of the water heater as Dean, exhausted, succumbed to sleep. He drifted deeper and deeper; head lolling to one side, breath low and steady. His eyelids twitched as vague thoughts and images flickered through his head just beyond his reach, his subconscious struggling to catch and hold onto them.

He never heard the click and beeps that signalled the end of the wash cycle, the steady snoring and trail of saliva tracking down his stubbled jaw, giving testament to his heavy slumber.

The harsh strains of _Jimi Hendrix, Purple Haze_, pierced the still air rocketing Dean forward, disorientated, but catching himself as he stumbled from the chair. Numb fingers scrabbled in his pocket to locate his phone, the source of the noise, his other hand supporting him against the top-loader.

Flipping the lid to silence the tones he staggered back into the chair as a wave of nausea rushed over him. "Ya' hello." He managed, as he dropped his head into his free hand, raking it through his hair.

"You get lost or laid, dude? What happened to the coffee and donut run?" Sam's low drawl emitted from the phone, the light tone failed to conceal the concern behind his words.

"Aah, shoot!" Dean grimaced as he pulled in deep breaths, pressing against his temples to try and relieve the pounding headache that'd taken up residence in his head. "Sorry, Sammy, I fell asleep. I'm still in the laundry room…Whoa, a little dizzy here, I musta stood up too fast." He blinked to clear his vision, "Just gimme a minute I'll put the dryers on then I'll head on out and pick up some breakfast. How's the head and arm, Dude?"

"Don't sweat it, I'm fine." Sam paused, "Look, you stay there and sort out the dryers; I'll head out and grab us breakfast. I could use a walk to clear my head."

"'Kay, Sammy, s'fine with me." He slurred, half awake. "Super-size me on the coffee will ya? Later, Dude." Dean leant back, snapping the phone shut and returning it to his pocket as the room slowly stopped revolving.

Dean scrunched his eyes, shaking his head as he tried to clear it. '_I think I need some fresh air_.' He headed towards the door, blinking in the bright sunlight as he shielded his eyes, yawning deeply in the crisp morning breeze.

The sound of a door pulling to brought his gaze round to where his brother stepped from room 29 onto the boarded walkway. "Here, you take the key." Sam smiled as he took in the bleary eyed vision before him. "Dude, you look like the recently risen dead. Go get some sleep, I'll sort out the washing."

Dean scratched at his stubble, "Nah, I'm good. Go get me coffee, I'm dyin' here!" He took the proffered keys from Sam's outstretched hand. "Don't be long and don't talk to strangers!" He called at Sam's receding back as his brothers' long strides increased the distance between them, smirking he turned and retraced his steps into the warm, stuffy washroom.

Yawning, he bent and picked up the plastic basket, wondering how one body could possible contain so many aches. He ferried the damp clothes across to the two huge dryer units, feeding coins into the timer pay slots. The sudden click, hum and rumble sounded loud in the quiet room. Reaching for the wooden key fob discarded on the low table, he read aloud the name charred into the wood below the #29, "Strawberry Shortcake Suite." '_I guess young Muriel musta gotten her suites mixed up!_' He thought wearily.

Again a wave of nausea swept over him and he sat and gagged, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth waiting for it to pass, his shaking hand snaked up to his forehead rubbing small circles to ease the pain. '_Maybe it's somethin' I ate_.' He wondered, trying without luck to recall any of the many micro meals he'd heated up at the myriad of mini-marts they had stopped by. '_Oh God, so not a good idea thinking of food._' He swallowed thickly, '_Guess I'll just wait here for that coffee._' He decided, unwilling to face the pink and white horror-scheme that lurked behind the doors of #29. Carefully he dragged his chair and bags over to the back wall, stopping in front of the huge glass doors of the dryers and settled down to wait.

Leaning back, he relaxed, breathing deeply, watching the ever-changing patterns as the clothing rotated, twisting, tumbling over and over on their seemingly never-ending journey. Dean smiled as his mind wandered, '_Man. How many times did dad leave me to do the laundry? Then come down hours later, to find me fast asleep?_' He mused, '_He'd give me rocks every time…I never could stay awake in a washhouse!_'

His head nodded gradually to the left, coming to rest against the white plank door as he slowly drifted further from the shores of consciousness. Suppressed memories rose unbidden as they slipped the reins of his control, his already damaged defenses crumbling readily. On the other side of the white plank door, the powerful, newly serviced boiler once again flashed to life in an attempt to meet the morning rush for hot showers.

***

Sam exited the motel reception and trotted down the low steps, smiling as he replayed his brothers' recent trip. Muriel had turned out to be a seventy two year old Charmer, who'd answered Sam's request for directions with the low-down on the entire main street. Details of where to go and what would be open on an early Sunday morning now filled Sam's head as he headed briskly around the front of the motel, left hand disappearing momentarily into his inside pocket to return seconds later clutching his prized chopstick. He eyed it with satisfaction, pulled up his jacket sleeve and inserted it into his cast with the care of a surgeon making his first incision.

Scratching contentedly, he surveyed the silent scaffolding, '_At least there won't be the noise from half a dozen workmen, we should be able to get a decent sleep_.' Turning his head to the side to read the large board that rested against the motels' outer wall. '_Far Horizons Motel, All the Comforts of Home in a Stylish, Modern, Air Conditioned Atmosphere. Daily/Weekly Rates Available. You're Always Guaranteed a Warm Welcome._' He chuckled to himself, '_Well, I might have to query the 'Stylish', then again I guess it is a style, just not one anyone in their right mind would want to live with._'

He lengthened his stride as he cleared the parking lot and headed into town, thoughts now focused on coffee and donuts.

Behind the motels' new sign, which had been propped there on the Tuesday in preparation for its imminent erection, the boiler room vent struggled against the obstacle, unable to clear the fumes, which had been gradually building all week. The only alternate source of escape was beneath the white plank door and into the washhouse where Dean now lay, unaware of the deadly poison that coursed, ever stronger through his veins, slowly surrounding him, invisible, odorless, silent, deadly.

***

The concentration levels of carbon monoxide within the poorly ventilated washroom rose without detection, slipping unseen through the cracks and gaps beneath the door. Lethal in its' anonymity, it gave no clue as to its presence. Impassive, merciless and ruthless, it selected its victims without discrimination.

Had there been anyone there to observe the scene, they would have seen nothing amiss. No sense or indication of the insidious threat that seeped its' way through unseen places, silently wrapping the unwary hunter in its' deathly embrace as he sprawled in seemingly peaceful repose. Dean rode the borderlands between deep sleep and unconsciousness as the carbon monoxide that impregnated the air, joined with the hemoglobin in his blood, willingly taking the place of the life-giving oxygen that his muscles so badly craved.

A closer observation would have revealed the flickers and frowns that rippled across his face, creasing his brow, soft breath catching in his throat as he struggled to escape the dreamland that now held him prisoner. The nightmares and memories that woke him every night, that left him gasping for air, weak and shaking as he desperately tried not to wake his brother, who lay silently pretending to sleep in whatever seedy motel room they called home for the night. Those same nightmares now held him captive, unable to break back through the veil to consciousness, to safety.

***

"_Dammit, Dean! Where in Hell's name's Sammy? I left you here with two simple tasks, do the laundry and look after your brother." The angry voice of his father brought him leaping to his feet, fists rubbing eyes that took seconds to focus on the glowering giant, standing menacingly before him. Panic flared as the otherwise deserted laundry room swam into view._

"_Dad, I…Shit! Sammy? He was here. I swear to God, I…" Dean stammered to the retreating back of his father as he turned on his heel and slammed open the door. _

"_Don't you cuss, boy? There'll be time to hear your sorry excuses later. Now get out here and help me to look for your brother!" _

_Dean, stumbled out on to the quiet street, "Jeez, Sammy, where'd you go?" He muttered under his breath, glancing about the street. "Dad, I'm sorry, he was reading. I was…"_

"_Hey, Daddy, when'd you get back?" The delighted, high-pitched voice of his nine-year-old brother came floating across the sidewalk as he bounced happily towards them carrying two ice-creams cones. _

"_Sammy, what the…? Where did you…?" Dean's queries were left unanswered._

"_Sammy! Thank God!" The elder Winchesters' angry voice flooded with relief. "Just where have you been, you can't just wander off, it's not safe." _

"_Dad, I'm not a little kid anymore!" Sam interrupted, "I wanted to surprise Dean. Here, Dean. It's for you." Sam smiled as he thrust one of the dripping cones into the hand of his big brother. "You want this one, Daddy?" His wide eyes smiled disarmingly up at his now deflated father. _

"_No, Kiddo. You have it, son." He shook his head, amazed at how easily his younger son could knock the wind from his sails. "Don't you ever do that again, Sammy? Anything could've happened to you. Now go get your school bag and come upstairs." _

_He turned to his eldest, "You, get back in there and sort out those clothes. I'll deal with you later."_

"_Yessir! Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep, it was only for a minute, I swear." His fathers' icy glance silenced him. Eyes cast dejectedly to the floor, Dean pushed his way back into the now silent washhouse, and glared at the cone in his fist as sticky ice cream trickled down the sides. Angrily, he threw it into the waste bin by the door, wiping his hands on his jeans as he went to retrieve the wash load._

Dean stirred in the wicker chair, reliving the past, old emotions rising to the surface, feeling again the anger, the guilt and jealousy, mixed with a wild hope that his 'daddy' was still alive. Even if it was just to berate him for his failures.

Again, the scene changed.

_Time had no meaning as he sat outside his burning family home, staring into the distance as flames jumped and leapt behind him. He could still feel the heat against the side of his head as he sat quaking on his fathers' lap cradling his baby brother in his arms. Rocking, silently feeling his heart freeze inside his chest, knowing that something bad had happened, that something had been taken away from him in the flames he'd seen reflected in his fathers' eyes. In the screams he'd heard as he ran from the house, stumbling with the weight of his brother. _

_He held on tight to the two things he had left in the world, his father, whose strong arms encircled him, who buried his face into his eldest sons hair as he tried to stifle the faltering sobs that wracked him, and his brother, his Sammy. "Mommy?" He barely breathed the word, for fear the world would shatter at the sound. Silently, he bit his lip as the tremors started to course through him, he clutched more tightly at the blanket wrapped bundle in his_ _arms. "Mommy?" His lower lip began to quiver as the terror and shock set in. It was the last word he spoke for six months._

Silent tears escaped from between his closed lids as the unbearable pain of that most terrible of days tore through him, afresh.

The floodgates of his past now stood prised firmly open, forming a gateway for nightmares and memories that were still too raw to deal with.

_He winced, hearing words from his fathers' mouth in a voice that was not his fathers, as he laid bare all his faults, failings and weaknesses in front of Sam, shattering his outer walls as if they were made of tissue paper. Feeling his heart crushed by the demon that had controlled his father in those awful, terrifying minutes in the cabin in the woods. _

_Flashing forwards to the hospital where he had lain, dying, vague memories that danced beneath the surface of his consciousness that held horrors he could only half remember even in his dreams. _

_Again, his fathers low voice, this time so full of love, telling him how proud he was of him, telling him to look after Sam, telling him goodbye and then the voice breaking as he told him how he might have to kill his baby brother if he couldn't save him. _

He struggled to keep the panic at bay. It was always there now, just beneath the surface. He couldn't let Sam know, he couldn't believe his father had put this on him. Had made him promise, with what would be his fathers dying words. He couldn't believe his dad was dead, had left him to deal with it all, had given up his life, a life spent fighting monsters, hunting down the yellow-eyed beast that had killed his wife, only to end his life by making a deal with that very same demon.

Dean felt the guilt crash around him. His dad; strong, powerful, invincible, brought low, and reduced to begging to save his eldest sons life. A life he felt was not worthy of his dads', knowing his father was now suffering for all eternity in the fiery pits of hell.

"_Oh, God, please no more, make it all go away! Sammy!_" He screamed silently, begging for release as the visions flittered through his mind, some playing in vivid details, others vague feelings, like shadows that teased from the boundaries of his mind.

_Their first werewolf hunt together, that had gone so horribly wrong, Sam holding him down, gripping his hand, trying to keep him still as his father dug the bullet from his thigh, then sewed him back together again. He could still taste the leather belt they had given him to bite down on to stop his screams._

He struggled up towards the surface, panic increasing his heart rate, his breaths coming faster, each breath stealing a little more oxygen from his blood. "_Sammy? Please, don't leave me here. Sammy?_"

He felt it before he heard it, as the phone in his pocket began to vibrate, '_Jimi Hendrix', Purple Haze_' calling to him across the battlefield of his mind. It gave him a point to aim for; he called on all his reserves, fighting the lethargy that had overwhelmed him.

His head lolling backwards as his eyelids flickered open, head pounding, eyes swimming as a wave of nausea again swept over him, uncoordinated his arm twitched but failed to respond to the command to pick up his phone, falling useless at his side. His stomach muscles twisting as cramps ripped through his body, muscles denied the oxygen they needed to function properly. He pitched forward, doubled up as a tremor ran the length of his body and gravity took over, sending him tumbling to the floor and landing with a crack on the laundry basket, which shattered against the sudden assault.

The darkness claimed him as the first convulsions wracked his body, blood running from his nose and split lip where they had contacted the floor. A long drawn out, groan escaped his lips as he lay unconscious, shuddering, jerking uncontrollably, and slowly dying.

Chapter Ends

Same time next week! Please let me know what you think of it so far… sorry about the cliffie!


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to everyone for all the lovely reviews and for adding this to story alerts and favourites, I do hope you continue to enjoy the story. Dean's in dire trouble and Sammy's gone for coffee… Hurt and Angst abound for Dean and Sammy's gotta pick up the pieces. Take My Breath Away by Impaladreams

Chapter 3

With his itch, momentarily scratched to his satisfaction, Sam carefully withdrew his trusty chopstick and returned it to his inside pocket. He glanced up at the clear morning sky and breathed deeply, inhaling the crisp fresh air that blew gently into his face, carrying with it the faintest hint of the distant pines that lined the lower slopes of the far hills.

Already he felt better, his head clearer, he had neglected to tell his big brother about the dizzy spell that had passed over him in the shower, and the reason he had fallen in the first place. He smiled, '_Let Dean think I'm practising dance moves_.' He shook his head, '_At least it'll stop him worrying about anything else_.'

Thinking back to his conversation with Muriel, he laughed softly, wondering what Dean would make of it if she did turn up with her offer to help him fold his 'smalls' as she'd so quaintly referred to their underwear. Grinning in anticipation of his brothers' discomfort, he stopped and eyed his surroundings.

True to the incorrigible Muriel's intelligence, the 'Porterhouse Coffee Lounge,' was just opening up, tables and chairs arranged alongside the wide shop front. Two doors further along, the 7/11 awaited his custom. He entered the Coffee Shop, noting the three overly long, sagging sofas that lined the walls.

"Hi!" He smiled a greeting at the pretty, young waitress behind the counter; "I'd like a regular latte` and a black Americano in the largest size you got, to go, please." He glanced over the array of pastries in the cooler cabinet. "I'll take one of the pastries and a slice of the pie, too." He placed a bill on the countertop, reading the name badge on her lapel. "I'll be back in five to collect, if that's okay? Aah, Katy?"

"I'll have it ready and waiting for you, sir." She smiled back at him as her eyes raked him from head to toe, obviously liking what she saw.

"Uh, thanks." He paused as he backed towards the door, "I'll be right back."

He strolled across to the 7/11 and glanced around the interior, dim after the bright morning light. Grabbing a basket he quickly located the donuts, M&M's and potato chips, items that would fulfil Dean's idea of a balanced diet containing all necessary food groups. He sighed, '_Maybe one day I'll get him to try something just a little less devoted to E numbers and cholesterol.' _

He added Coke and bottled water, some apples and sandwiches, pulling bills from his nearly empty wallet. '_Best, Dean, gets his pool-playing butt in gear and gets hustling, I'm about running on empty here._'

He bagged his shopping then returned to the Coffee Lounge to collect his order. "Thank you." Sam flashed her a grateful smile as she held the door open for him.

"Any time, sir!" Her eyes lingered on his face just a little too long for his comfort. He blushed and hurriedly exited, stumbling on the low step in his haste, grateful at least that his brother was not there to witness his discomfort.

The sudden clamour of church bells ringing pierced the fresh morning air, calling the faithful to the 9am Morning Service. He picked up his pace as the itch beneath his cast returned with newfound enthusiasm,

As he rounded the corner, he peered through the reception window, nodding in answer to Muriels' wave. Sauntering along to #29 he lowered the shopping to the ground. "Dean, it's me, open up!" He knocked then paused, listening. No sound issued forth from within.

Again he knocked, "Dude, come on, coffee's getting cold!" Again he was met with silence. _'I might've known he'd never make it outta the washhouse, it's like it hypnotises him. At least he's getting some sleep.' _He smiled to himself.

Reaching into the paper bag, he withdrew the huge coffee carton, leant the bag up against the door and straightened. If anything could get his brother to move it would be the temptation of his morning caffeine fix.

He approached the washhouse door, squinting against the bright sunlight, swapping hands; he twisted the handle and entered. The wall of warm, moist air immediately wrapped itself around him as his eyes adapted to the gloom. "Dean?" he called, noticing the empty chairs. "Dean? Oh God. No!" As his eyes came to rest on the now still form of his brother, lying bleeding on the floor.

The coffee slipped unfelt, forgotten, from his hand to crash and splatter over the floor as Sam launched himself across the room, sliding to his knees and skidding to a stop beside the prone figure. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as thoughts of his father, lying dead on the hospital floor, filled his head.

"No, no, no." He chanted, reaching forward and grasping Dean by the shoulders. "Dean, come on. Dean, wake up. Please!" He begged as he gently shook him. Sam's hand brushed across his brothers' forehead, noting the light sheen of sweat across his brow. "Oh, God, what's wrong? Dean, please wake up?" He blinked his eyes, fighting back tears.

The faint fluttering of eyelids and the low moan that escaped from his brothers' bleeding lips sent a rush of relief over Sam, quickly followed by a wave of dizziness.

"God, it's too hot in here, maybe you just fainted? Dean? Come on, let's get you outta here." Sam rolled his brother carefully over, onto his back, "Dude, wake up, gimme a little help here." He cradled Dean's slack jaw in his good hand, supporting it and tapping lightly.

Soft groans escaped Dean's blood-smeared lips as his lashes finally parted, revealing eyes that swam in all directions, refusing to focus. "Come on, Dean, that's it, you're okay." Sam pleaded.

For one moment confused green eyes levelled on his brother, "Sammy?" the faintest whisper reached Sam's straining ears. "Hey, Dean." Relief flooded his voice, "Hang in there, dude. Come on, let's get you outta here." He reached down, to help his big brother into a sitting position.

Dean's pain-filled eyes lost their point of focus as his face crumpled, teeth clenching as fresh waves of agony raged through his body, cramps seizing hold of his oxygen starved muscles. As consciousness slipped away, his head slammed back onto the floor as the convulsions began once again, his back arching as tremors ripped through him, jerking spastically as he writhed in his brothers panicked embrace.

Sam clutched the madly twitching body to his chest, feeling every muscle spasm that ripped through his brother. "No, don't you do this, Dean. Holy crap! Stop it! Please? Oh, God, no more. Dean, please?" Hot tears streamed down his face as he knelt, rocking, chanting his quiet litany, begging it all to stop, trying to absorb the shocks, to share the pain.

As the convulsion quietened to mere ticks and twitches, Sam gradually relaxed his grip, good hand reaching to gently stroke the back of his brothers head. "Shhh, that's it, you're okay. Shhh. I got ya." He soothed quietly, swallowing thickly against the sobs that struggled to escape.

With hands shaking, he fumbled for his phone dialling 911. Speaking swiftly into the mouthpiece he glanced up as the door opened, continuing his conversation with the emergency operator, as Muriel shuffled into the room. "Hello, Boys. Thought I might find… Oh, my Lord, what's happened here?"

She halted as she listened to Sam's one-sided conversation, coming to kneel stiffly beside the two young men, reaching out a gnarled hand to touch Dean's forehead.

"Yeah! I found him collapsed and unconscious on the floor of the laundry room." He paused listening to the controller before answering, "He came to for maybe, I don't know, a couple of seconds then he passed out again. He was having some kinda fit." Sam chewed at his lower lip listening. "Yeah, it's real hot and humid in here, I feel kinda shaky myself."

"Out into the fresh air? Right now?" Again he paused, "Okay, yeah, I can move him. I'll pass you on to someone else." He pushed the phone towards Muriel, "I've gotta get Dean outta here. We need to get outside now! Can you give them directions to here, please?"

She took the phone and quickly issued directions as to their location, moving to hold the door open as Sam struggled to lift the dead weight of his now comatose brother. Unable to lift him, he settled for dragging him and placed his own uninjured left arm across Dean's chest, then gripped him underneath his right.

The now cold, black coffee lay in a shallow pool across the tiled floor, ripples and waves spreading outwards, reflecting the overhead lights a thousand times as Sam slipped, struggling with his brother through the brown puddle, towards the open doorway. As the life giving fresh air poured in, Sam felt the light-headedness begin to recede.

He paused, panting from the effort, resting before resuming his task as he hauled Dean out onto the walkway and down the slight steps. He laid, breath coming in gasps, on the dusty ground of the parking lot, not twelve feet from the impassive form of the waiting Impala. His eyes backtracked the wide wet, coffee stained smear that led straight through into the washroom. Both his legs and his brothers' back and legs were now soaked through with the black coffee and covered with gravel dust. Sam shivered as the breeze discovered the wet material of his shirt and pants.

He crawled to Dean's side and leant over him, automatically reaching to find the carotid pulse, fast but weak beneath his searching fingers, listening to the shallow breaths. Sam's eyes searched his brother for an obvious cause for his distress but found none, any injuries he could see were as a result of a fall, not the cause of one. "Aah, Dean, come on man, gimme a break here. Please wake up!" He checked his watch, glancing up, offering a silent prayer for the ambulance to arrive.

"You should turn him onta his side and wrap this round him, keep him warm." Muriels voice broke through Sam's thoughts as she passed him a woollen blanket. "He had the epilepsy long? My youngest had the same." She shook her head at the memory, "He'd come outta fittin' scared, confused, never knew where he was. Here, put this under his head."

Sam carefully rearranged his brother into the recovery position and placed the small towel under his face, a cushion from the rough gravel. "Thank you, Muriel. He's not epileptic, least never before, I've never seen him like this." He shook the blanket out and tucked it in around Dean's shoulders, noticing the slight spasms that still coursed through his body. Kneeling, he gently rubbed small circles onto his brothers' back and shoulders, subconsciously mirroring Dean's method of giving comfort.

"Here!" Muriel reached down, supplying Sam's phone. "They said they'd be here within 15 minutes." She answered, anticipating his question. He smiled his thanks as he took the phone, eyes tracking straight back to his brothers' pale face, watching the rapid eye movements behind the closed lids as they gave a small indication of the turmoil that raged within.

******

_He heard the deep-throated growl of the big car approaching, tyres crunching over gravel as it slowed to a halt outside the motel room where Dean, and his eleven-year-old brother Sam had waited for the past week. Relief washed over him as he turned off the light and moved a corner of the curtain with the barrel of the shotgun he held before him. He waited, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, he glanced over to the sleeping form of his brother on the sofa, then back to the Impala as it sat in the darker shadows between the twin halos of light streaming from the street lamps._

"_Come on, Dad. What's keeping you?" he whispered. He was torn between rushing out to check his father was okay and obeying the indoctrinated command to never open the door, unless he was given the correct password._

_He chewed on his lower lip, waiting, there was no sign of movement from the dark interior of the car. Their father was over three days late, there had been no contact from him and Dean had been on the verge of panic, all the while assuring Sam that everything was okay and that dad had phoned to extend his absence._

_He moved towards the door, reaching for the handle, gun at the ready, then paused. If it was one of his dad's tests, he was about to fail it. If his dad was out there bleeding to death then he had no time to spare. There was no contest. "Sammy, wake up!" He called. "Sam, come on, get over here."_

"'_S'up, Dean?" the sleepy voice floated from the couch._

"_Dad's back, but I think there's something wrong. Get over here and take the shotgun, I'm goin' out. He's been out there too long. He's probably just testing me again." He smiled and quirked an eyebrow trying to reassure his younger brother that nothing was really wrong, as he passed him the shotgun. He reached behind the cushion, withdrawing the 9mm Beretta 92FS pistol_ _and checking its contents. _

"_Anythin' happens Sammy, you shoot first and ask questions later, got it?" He glanced out the window at the still silent car. 'Please be okay, dad. Please?' "Lock the door after me and don't open it up unless I give you the password, you understand me, Sammy?"_

"_It's Sam, and yes I understand you. Er, Dean? What is the password today?" _

_Dean rolled his eyes, "Just pick anythin', somethin' you'll remember, okay."_

"_Okay, Dean. Aaah, okay, I pick Constantinople, we're studying Istanbul in class." Sam's scared eyed met his brothers. "Dean, is dad alright?"_

"_Shit, Sammy, how am I supposed to know? That's why I gotta' go outside and check. Dad's probably fine and about to tear me a new one for not following orders." He took a deep breath, "Okay. Constantinople." He met his brothers' eyes as he reached for the handle. "Lock it, Sam. Anything goes wrong you phone Uncle Bobby, Okay?"_

"_Dean?" Sam's wide-eyed stare held his brothers'. "Please be careful," he whispered._

_Dean shook his head sadly, "Sammy, you are such a girl!" He grinned, attempting to cover the terror that filled him. "Dad's probably taking hits from a bottle of Jose` and he's fallen asleep is all! Don't sweat it, I'll be right back, I promise!" He turned, "Lock the door, Sam."_

_He slipped outside, back pressed against the motel door until he heard the lock slide into place. He gave Sam a moment to position himself with the shotgun, and then moved on silent feet towards the waiting car, Beretta held at the ready, heart beating loud and fast, hands trembling. He sucked in a deep breath pushing it out slowly to calm himself. 'Suck it up, use the fear, boy!' _

_He bit his lip as he neared the passenger side and saw his fathers' form slumped in the drivers seat. The side of his fathers face pressed, eyes closed, up against the window, unshaven, couched in shadow. Dean tapped the side window with the gun. "Dad? Dad, wake up!" Nothing moved. "Dad? You okay? Wake up!" He tapped again, this time more loudly. Moving round the front of the car to stand beside the drivers door._

_A stir of his head, eyelids blinking, face contorted in pain. John Winchester lurched awake, eyes wide and wild, panic-stricken as he reached for the shotgun draped across his knees, aim coming to rest on his eldest son. "Dad, it's me, it's okay! Dad, it's me. Dean!" He froze to the spot, knowing his father was not really seeing him._

_Seconds passed, Dean felt beads of sweat trickle down from his forehead and neck, scarcely daring to breath, as he waited for his father to come back to him. "Dad, please?" He saw the moment the panic passed, as his father drew in a deep shuddering breath and slumped back against the door. "Dean?" The rough voice rasped._

"_Oh Jeez, Dad. Lemme get you outta there." He paused knowing what was expected of him, "Okay, what's the password, Dad?"_

_Glazed eyes struggled for focus as a wry smile crossed his features. "Great time to start obeying orders, son. 'Millennium Falcon,' leastways that's what it shoulda been three days ago."_

_Dean smiled, as he reached forward, caution forgotten as he assessed his dads' condition, grasping the chrome door handle, he pulled, moving to support John as he rolled slowly from the car._

He turned his head hearing sirens wailing in the distance and caught the flicker of red and blue flashing lights in the corner of his vision. Wait, that wasn't right. Memories blurred as the sirens wailed louder, pulling him away from his fathers' side. Fear and confusion took hold as he felt himself turned, strange hands probing him as he fought in vain to open his eyes.

He pulled away but nothing moved, muscles refusing his commands. A light shone into his eyes, as the lids were prised open. Blurred figures, strangers faces hovered over him, turning his face, reaching into his mouth, turning his head as nausea overwhelmed him. Fear giving way to total panic, he clawed his way to consciousness, the weight of his father heavy in his arms still more real than the nightmare he'd woken into.

Shivering uncontrollably, eyes wide and wild, panic-stricken, breath hitching in his throat, searching frantically, '_Sam, Sammy_?' Unfamiliar voices telling him to relax, calm down, crowding him as he lay at their mercy. He screwed his eyes tightly closed, willing it all to go away.

"What's his name, son?"

"Dean." The voice he was searching for, his head turned towards the sound.

"Dean? Come on, Dean. Stay with us son." Another stranger.

"Pass the ToxCO kit, I need to get a reading here."

"Dean, hang in there, stay with me."

He instantly knew the touch of his brothers' hand on his face and instinctively leant into it, forcing bleary eyes open, willing them to stay focused. Sam's face loomed above him, peering anxiously into his eyes, long hair flopping forward, smears of mud and gravel across his cheeks.

"Sammy?" he croaked, "Where's dad? What's happening?"

Sam moved back out of his line of vision, to be replaced by a middle-aged man wearing a Hi-vis yellow rescue jacket.

"Settle down, son. I need you to blow into this. You understand me?"

Dean felt the cold plastic tube as it was eased into his mouth, panicking in his search for Sam he pulled away, tube tumbling from his lips.

"Sam? Don't leave me. Sammy?" He rasped. Cold plastic again found its way into his mouth.

"Steady, Dean, your brother's right here. We need you to blow into this as hard as you can." The insistent voice above him broke through his panic.

Wide eyes, staring, Dean gripped the tube in his mouth and blew, begging silently for the man to leave him alone.

"Well done, son." He felt it withdrawn and closed his eyes in relief.

"COHb's up over 30%, I want him on 100% oxygen, we need to get this carbon monoxide out of his blood ASAP."

He felt his head gently lifted, sending his world spinning as a rush of vertigo overwhelmed him, then a moment of claustrophobia as the silicon facemask was fitted and adjusted over his mouth and nose.

'_Aah,_ _Jeez, could this suck any more?_' He whined panicking, before the welcome flow of cool air rushed into his airways. His vision cleared momentarily as Sam again loomed into view.

"It's okay, Dean. We're going to the hospital I'm right here, just relax, okay? Breath deep, Dean."

Stilted movement returned to his limbs in a rush of pins and needles as he felt himself slipping away again, his hand groped reflexively towards his brother. Feeling the rough plaster cast under his fingers as Sam reached for and held his questing hand. Holding tightly as if to a lifeline Dean succumbed to the darkness once more.

Sam watched the supine figure of his brother, strapped to the stretcher as he was lifted into the back of the now silent ambulance, noticing the blue lights flash as they reflected across his brothers now pale skin.

"Any idea how long he was in that wash house?"

The question took Sam by surprise. He turned to the paramedic, "Uh? I don't, er, I guess about one and a half, maybe two hours. What's wrong with him, he was fine earlier."

"Let's get you both to the hospital, we can talk on the way." He smiled, moving Sam toward the open ambulance door. He followed Sam inside and secured the door, indicating where Sam should sit. "Name's Luther." He stated offering his hand to Sam.

"Uh, Sam, Sam Holden, s'my brother, Dean. I guess you've already met him." He attempted a weak smile, "What's the matter with him, he was having a fit, I couldn't keep him still, I've never seen him like it before." Sam's eyes betrayed his worry.

"Your brother's inhaled a large quantity of carbon monoxide." Luther attached wires and monitors to Dean's fingers and chest, recording his heart rate and blood pressure. "The test we did earlier shows the levels of carboxyhemoglobin, (COHb) in his blood. Basically, hemoglobin prefers carbon monoxide (CO) to oxygen, so we have to try and force the CO out by administering 100% oxygen." He reached out and adjusted the mask over Dean's face. "Your brother was having convulsions because his muscles were receiving no oxygen and it's like their way of complaining."

"So he's gonna be okay?" Sam asked, eyes focused on the still form of his brother, listening to the hiss of the oxygen as it flowed steadily from the tanks.

"We need to get him to hospital, we can assess any long term damage there, it'll depend on how much he's breathed in, how long his exposure was and his activity levels." He glanced up at Sam's worried face and smiled. "He regained consciousness, and managed to speak, even if he was a little confused. He didn't seem able to move too well, but that should improve when he gets more oxygen into his system."

"He reached out for my hand, before he went under again." Sam looked up hopefully.

"All good signs. Try not to worry, we'll know more soon. We're nearly there." Luther placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder.

Chapter Ends

I hope you have enjoyed this update; I'd dearly love to know what you think of it so far. Next and final chapter up next Friday…


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, story and favourite alerts, here's the final chapter. This is a longer chapter but I didn't want to divide it. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my wonderful betas and mentors, bulletbabe and DeansBabyBird, for all their encouragement, help and advice. Without them, this would never have been written…So, it's all their fault!! I apologise to all the American readers and anyone else not familiar with the term for the use of the term 'grip' in chapter 1. This is a British term, common in the Royal Navy (in which I spent 14 years), which means 'duffel', thanks to _bhoney_ for reminding me. I promise, all duffel-like grips have been removed from this chapter!! Poor Dean's breathtaking ordeal is far from over and Sam's left to pick up the pieces.Thanks again for reading, I hope you enjoy it and are happy with the conclusion to events.Take My Breath Away by Impaladreams

Chapter 4

Dean lay in a state mid way between consciousness and the nightmare realm that reached out for him so seductively, teasing him with promises of seeing his father again. He floated, hearing as though through a cotton wool filter, the tones of his brother close by, safe, grounding him. He couldn't quite grasp the meaning of the words, they danced just beyond his reasoning but it was enough to know Sam was there, his presence alone enough to keep the demons at bay.

He heard other voices, felt unfamiliar hands but simply knowing Sam was nearby keeping guard, standing watch over him, kept his panic at a distance. What he really wanted was to feel his brother's hand in his, his touch the only reassurance he needed. His breaths came slow and steady, as he breathed deeply of the oxygen flowing through the mask.

He felt the world tilt alarmingly as the ambulance lurched to a stop outside the main entrance and he was lifted out and wheeled through into the emergency room. Too many voices now, where was Sam? He stirred uneasily, '_Sam? Sammy_?' His eyes rolled beneath lids that refused to open. Then the voice he sought was there, closer, right by his ear.

"Dean, they need to take you through to the ICU, and get you cleaned up a little, I've just gotta fill in the medical forms and I'll come find you. I'm okay, don't worry about me, I'll come as soon as I sort out the paperwork." Dean felt the gentle touch on his forearm.

'_Sammy! No don't. Please_.' He silently begged. '_Please don't go, don't leave me_.' The heart rate monitor picked up the increased beats as Dean felt the first tendrils of panic reach out for him as he struggled to reach the surface. His breaths quickened, panting as if he was running a race, head twitching from side to side as he fought against the confines of the facemask.

Sam watched his brother stirring weakly as he was wheeled through the double swing doors at the head of the corridor. "Dean it's okay, just settle down." He called over his shoulder, unsure if his brother could even hear him, as he made his way over to the desk to complete the frustrating paperwork.

*****

"You'll have to wait out here, sir." The hard faced receptionist turned an '_I've heard it all before',_ expression towards Sam as he tried to talk his way in to see his brother. "You still need to be checked over by the nurse, so please go back and take your seat!"

"Freakin' hospitals! Freakin' waiting rooms!" Sam muttered as he paced nervously up and down, waiting for news of Dean's condition. He'd spent the first fifteen minutes filling in forms. Luther had paused on his way back out to reassure Sam that Dean was in good hands. The next half hour was spent glancing up anytime a nurse or doctor appeared.

Eventually, Sam was called through to see the triage nurse, who insisted on checking his head, arm and breathing. The pulse oximeter showed Sam to have COHb levels consistent with a heavy smoker at about 9% but assured him that that would gradually return to normal. She cleaned and redressed his head wound then discharged him.

Again he checked for an update on his brothers' condition and was abruptly told he would be the first to know when there was one. Sam visited the restrooms and stood at the sink suddenly seeing himself for the first time since his queue-jumping shower only that morning.

'_Jeez, was that just earlier this morning – feels like a goddamn week ago?' _He raked his fingers through his tangled bangs, brushing gravel dust from the ends, he noticed the streaks of tears, the dust and coffee smeared on his face and dipped his head, splashing cold water over his face and neck. He stood back and took in the rest of his appearance, appalled at the mixture of coffee, dust and Dean's slowly drying blood that decorated his clothes.

Sam exited the restroom, returning to the slowly filling waiting area. He sat slumped heavily in the corner, elbows resting on his knees and leaned forward, cradling his pounding head in his hands. Now that he'd stopped, a wave of total exhaustion washed over him.

*****

"Dean it's okay, just settle down." The words travelled to him as from a great distance, words that grew fainter as he felt the movement and bang of doors. The sudden stillness and quiet, the sudden knowledge that Sam was no longer there, filled him with terror.

'_Get a hold! Get a hold! He said he'd be right back. Okay, breathe deep and slow_.' His breath coming fast and shallow, refusing to listen to his instructions. '_Oh, God. Why can't I move? What the hell's happened to me?…Where's Sam?…Sammy?_'

Voices, none of them Sam, too many voices, he struggled to focus to listen. Strange hands probed all over him, gripping, lifting, hands that removed the clothing from his body. Hands that reached _everywhere_, he felt violated and vulnerable. '_Unh! Jeez!' _He grit his teeth_, _wincing at the sudden pain as cold, hard tubes were inserted_. 'Sammy?…Sammy, Please? Get me outta here._' He howled silently. He felt the jab and slight pressure as a needle entered his arm.

Different voices, more hands supporting him, lifting him. The smooth weight of the hospital gown as they manoeuvred him into it, the touch of the crisp sheets, crinkling, cold beneath his now bare feet.

He shuddered, terrified, trapped, disorientated, the little control he had over his muscles coming and going like ripples on water. So he cried out for his lifeline, silently in his head, calling out for his brother, over and over until the darkness reached out to claim him once more.

*****

Raising his head, Sam blinked weary eyes into focus, checking the time on the overhead digital display, his heart missing a beat as the numbers rearranged themselves to read 10:41AM. He swallowed thickly, terror coursing through his veins as hot tears sprang to his eyes. Wordlessly, he begged it to not be an omen of things to come, as memories of his father's last moments came rushing back to haunt him. Overwhelming sadness flooded through him and left him shaking, struggling to breath round the lump that filled his throat.

Suddenly self-conscious, he glanced around noticing that several children were staring at him whilst most of the adults averted their faces. Wiping his eyes and sniffing loudly he stood and made his way over to the vending machine in the corridor, needing to escape the inquisitive glances, needing the solitude to compose himself.

Feeding coins into the slot he thought of the coffee and shopping he'd left on the ground outside their room. '_Damn, never did get my coffee, it's not a wonder I'm in pieces._' He smiled, '_Dean's gonna be like a bear with a sore head when he finds out he's missed his pie.' _He reached for his coffee, '_I'd better call Muriel and ask her to take the groceries in, otherwise there'll be rats and racoons ripping it up all over the place._"

Sam leant his back against the wall, sipping his steaming beverage, unwilling to return to the waiting room. Closing his eyes he raised his face up to the heavens, '_Please let him be okay._' He offered up a silent prayer as he felt the hot rush of tears sting his bloodshot eyes once again.

*****

Images flooded through Dean's subconscious mind, and he found himself unable to block out the memories of pain, loss and fear. He saw his once warm and loving father turning away from him, changing into a cold and distant man, with only one mission in life.

He saw himself standing side by side with Sam in the darkness, numb with grief as the dancing flames flourished, spreading joyously, feeding on the funeral pyre that burnt so brightly before them both. The moment frozen in time and space, Dean, for once too damaged to reach out to support his brother, whose grief was so palpable it filled the night…Lying to Sam, to shelter him, unable to share with him his father's last words, the awful legacy placed upon him.

He saw his brother Sam, leaving him, banished, after a terrible argument with their father, being told never to return. He felt again how a part of him had shattered and died that night as Sam had walked away, never once looking back. How he'd fought back the tears and kept his game face on, desperately trying to hide the pain and anguish that scarred his soul.

The glimpsed nightmares slowed, focusing in with shocking clarity.

Sam had gone, that was the simple truth. It was three months since he'd walked out of their lives and they'd heard nothing from him. Dean felt the loneliness and betrayal as a physical pain that never left him, night or day. It was matched by the anger that had simmered just beneath John's surface, threatening to spill over any time Dean even tried to mention his brother's name.

_Dean sat slumped heavily against the door in the passenger seat of the Impala. His eyes screwed shut and jaw tightly clenched against the gasps of pain and hitching sobs that escaped him every time the old car hit a pothole on the bumpy, overgrown sidetrack that his father now eased her slowly down. He felt the weight of his father's eyes glance across to him over the wide bench seat as he sat cradling his left arm fiercely to his side, rocking with the pain that slammed repeatedly through him._

"_Just hang in there, son. It's not far now." _

_His fathers' words came as from a great distance as Dean lost the battle to stay fully conscious, his head nodded forward onto his chest to bump gently against the side window. He felt the lumbering tilt as the car rolled from the track and back onto the blacktop, unable to control his anguished groans at the motion, he heard the engine note change as his father floored the gas pedal. _

_He jolted awake, feeling himself falling, only to find the strong arms of his father surrounding him as he was gently lifted from the seat. Waves of dizziness and nausea assailed him as the sudden movement sent white-hot streaks of lightning racing through his shivering frame. _

"_Steady, Kiddo. I gotcha." The deep rumble sounded close to his ear as Dean's head lolled against his fathers' broad shoulder, the rush of leather, gun-oil, sweat and graveyard dirt filled his senses, bringing instant comfort, as John carried him into the motel room as easily as if he were still a child._

_Glimpses of light, flashes of pain, the gentle creaking of the sagging mattress as his father laid him carefully down. Drifting in and out of consciousness, mumbling, sobbing, struggling weakly as he felt his rough, wet clothes removed. The soothing feeling of the cool, damp cloth pressed gently against his bruised brow. Whispered reassurances that steadied him when his weak, hated whimpers could no longer be contained. _

"_Okay, son. This is gonna hurt… I need you to try to relax whilst I get your shoulder back in." He felt the mattress rock beneath him as John shifted his position, moving to stand at his left-hand side. "You wanna shot'a this first?" _

_He smelt the sweet acrid aroma of the whisky as it was held to his lips; he took a faltering sip from the bottle, coughing as the fiery liquid burnt the back of his throat. "Just do it, dad!" He ground out between gritted teeth. Turning his face away, attempting unsuccessfully to take deep calming breaths against the grating of the broken ribs in his side._

_Dean arched his back, gasping, forcing his face against the rough blanket covering the bed, heels scrabbling futilely, seeking escape as his tortured arm was slowly raised at the elbow. "Uunnhhh!" He panted, his face unable to disguise the agonies that raged within. _

"_Easy, boy! Steady now, nearly there. Keep breathing, son. Nice and slow." John's steady cadence brought little solace. "Nearly there…Here we go…." The sudden 'thunk' as his joint snapped back into place was drowned out by the scream of pure agony that poured from him, tailing off into raspy breaths as the arms of darkness reached out for him once more..._

_The touch of a cool hand against his fevered brow pulled him back towards the surface. "Sammy?" He whispered, eyes skittering open, searching for his brothers' face._

"_No, Son. It's me." John's voice sounded tired, almost broken. "Sammy's long gone, remember? He won't be coming back anytime soon." _

_It was the first time Dean had heard his father mention the forbidden name since his brother had left for Stanford over three months ago. The voice sounded hollow with regret. He felt his fathers' rough hand support the back of his neck, raising his head._

"_Here, Son. Try to swallow these, they'll help with the pain." _

_The bitter taste of tablets placed on his tongue, then cool, sweet water held to his lips. He forced the Tylenol down, and then turned his unfocused gaze back to his father._

"_Dad," he whispered breathlessly, eyes glazing over once again, "I miss him so bad, it hurts." He sank back down into the pillow, unsure of whether he had really spoken out loud._

"_Me too, kiddo… Me too." John's quiet words washed over him as Dean returned willingly to the patient arms of oblivion._

*****

"Mr Holden? Sam Holden?" A short, weary looking, bearded young doctor approached cautiously, unwilling to disturb the obviously distraught young man leaning by the wall.

Sam started, looking down almost guiltily, hastily wiping his good hand across his eyes and nose, and struggling to pull himself together. "That's me. Ah, I'm sorry… How's my brother? Is he okay? Can I see him now?"

"Hi, my name's Doctor Anguston, I'll take you through to see him, if you'll follow me?"

He turned and led Sam back through the waiting room towards a set of double swing doors.

"Before we go through though, I just need to ask you a couple of questions first." He held up a hand to stall Sam's intervention. "In cases of CO poisoning, we need to ascertain if there's any chance that it was intentional exposure rather than accidental? Or if your brother has ever suffered from depression or mental illness?"

"What, Dean? No! No, he'd never try to hurt himself." Sam stammered, horrified at the suggestion. "He's never suffered from anything like that, he's the strongest person I know." Sam felt the need to defend Dean. "Our dad died earlier this year and yeah, we both took it bad but we're dealing with it." He sought the doctors' eyes, "Why d'you ask? What's the matter with him? Look, I really need to see him, now! I have to know he's okay!"

"Your brother's drifting in an out of consciousness, it's quite normal in the case of carbon monoxide poisoning at the levels your brother has been exposed to." He paused, "However, he seems very disturbed, distraught even. You say you lost your father, this year?"

Sam nodded, brows knit together with worry.

"It may be linked to that." The doctor looked doubtful, "It could just be a reaction to the poisoning…" He looked dubious "But coupled with the excessive amount of scarring we have found on his body we are concerned there may be some underlying psychological issues."

Sam took a deep breath, trying to contain his growing frustration.

"Look, he's got scars cause well he's really, really accident prone!" He stated lamely, "Not cause he's deliberately hurt himself. He's distraught because I'm not there to calm him down!" Sam's voice rose a level, "He's terrified of hospitals – which is why I need to see him now!"

"Sir, please calm yourself. These are questions that have to be asked, however unpleasant. We have a duty of care to our patients." The small doctor raised his eyes to meet Sam's "It's important that you don't upset your brother, he's on intensive oxygen therapy and needs to remain calm under any circumstances."

Sam bit back his sharp retort. "Okay, look I'm sorry." He let his breath out slowly. "Please can I just see him, now?" He offered a tight-lipped smile.

Doctor Anguston's face softened,

"Come this way." He stopped outside a nondescript grey door. "We've moved him from the ICU as he's responding well to the oxygen therapy. Unfortunately, we've had to restrain him; he only has limited muscular control at the moment, this will improve as the CO is purged from his muscles. In the meantime however, he keeps trying to remove the mask and is very uncoordinated, we're concerned he may hurt himself. It's imperative that he keeps the mask on until we can bring his COHb levels right down."

He opened the door and followed Sam to his brothers' bedside.

"Aah, Dean. No."

Sam whispered, biting his bottom lip as he stood at Dean's shoulder, watching in alarm as his brother's head twisted from side to side, eyes screwed tightly closed, his knuckles showing white as he pulled against the soft straps holding his wrists securely to the bed rails, bare feet scraping against crumpled white sheets as he fought to escape some unseen horror.

Sam glanced at the doctor who indicated a chair with a nod of his head. "Talk to him, see if you can calm him down. I really don't want to have to sedate him again, unless there's no option. I'm leaving shortly but someone'll be by to check on him later. Don't worry, he's being monitored up in the nurses station." He smiled his reassurance. "We should know more about his recovery in a few more hours."

"What do you mean? I thought as soon as the carbon monoxide's outta his blood he'd be fine. What d'you mean 'know more about his recovery'?" Sam growled at the doctor.

"It's a little more complicated than that, Mr Holden. It's too early to tell yet, I'll go into more detail once we have a better idea of what's happening." He turned to leave. "Just try to keep him calm."

*****

The touch of a cool hand against his fevered brow pulled Dean from his memories. "Dad?" He rasped behind the facemask, his eyelids flickering open as he searched in panic for his fathers' face.

"No, Dean. It's just me, Sam." Sam's quiet voice sounded tired, almost broken.

"Sammy? What…? Wh…where's dad…?" Dean blinked in bleary confusion, brow creasing as he took in his sterile surroundings.

"Dad's gone. Remember?" Sam whispered, gently stroking back the damp hair from his brother's forehead.

"Oh, god, no…Sammy he's gone." Understanding flooded pale, gaunt features and Dean's eyes filled suddenly with a hot rush of tears, his face crumpling in despair. He turned away, mind reeling in confusion, pressing his face into the pillow, eyes held tightly closed against the deluge of tears that could no longer be contained.

"God, I miss you, dad." Words ghosted silent as a prayer, words that were never meant for Sam's ears.

"Ssshh, it's okay. I know, Dean…I know." Sam's quiet words tailed off and Dean felt his brothers' hand slip over his own, his lifeline as he spiralled downwards once more.

Later, as full awareness returned, Dean glanced down groaning, struggling weakly against the restraints securing his arms.

"Sammy? Wa's goin' on? Where? Nnnhhh!" His head sank back to the pillow as a wave of vertigo rushed over him. He turned distraught eyes beseechingly to his brother.

"Don't worry, Dean. Take it easy. I'll call someone, get them taken off you. Dude, you gotta promise not to take the mask off, okay?" Sam reached across and pressed the call button. Then leant towards Dean, searching deep into his eyes. "You really back with me this time? How ya feeling?"

"Like crap… Like I've been run over by a truck." He winced as the pounding in his head reached a crescendo. "Oh and Yeah! I do know what that feels like." He coughed, the mask irritating him. "Dammit, Sammy, get all this offa me. Please!"

"I tried to take the straps off earlier, dude, but they caught me and threatened to throw me out till morning."

Both brothers turned their heads as the door suddenly swung open and a short jolly looking, dark-haired nurse bustled in. "Okay, how ya doin' boys?" She smiled warmly, "You called?"

"My brother's awake now, can we please get these restraints off him? He promises not to touch the mask!" Sam glared at his brother not to argue.

Dean's eyebrows rose as he gave a weak smile and inclined his head.

"Well, I'll check with the doctor about the restraints, but I need to remove the mask for 5 minutes, so that'll give you a little break." She smiled as she eyed her patient. "You're on 100 percent oxygen, while we try to reduce your CO levels, but we have to give you a short break every hour, an 'air protection' period, so you don't have a hyperoxic seizure, that's a bit like an oxygen overdose." She explained, leaning over him, undoing clips to disengage the tight fitting mask.

"Now lay back and try to take slow steady breaths." She smiled at his relieved expression. "You may feel a little light headed at first, so just take it slowly."

Dean closed his eyes and lay back, grimacing as the room began to slowly spin and he swallowed thickly.

"There, nice slow breaths, that's it, don't worry it'll pass. Your chest may feel a little tight." She observed the readings from the pulse oximeter attached to his finger closely. "Just a few more minutes."

He peered at her through watery eyes, glancing over to Sam's concerned face.

"Levels are coming down nicely." She smiled. "I'll be right back. Take it easy now, nice slow breaths." She instructed over her shoulder as she turned to go.

As soon as the door swung shut, Dean's panicked whisper cut through the air.

"What the hell happened to me, Sammy? I don't remember a thing. What am I doin' here? How the hell did I get here?" Dean's confused expression brought a soft smile to Sam's face.

"Carbon monoxide poisoning's what happened…I phoned Muriel earlier about our gear and she says they've had accident investigators there, at the motel, all day. Evidently, the boiler house flue was blocked by some boarding, which meant all the fumes back-vented into the laundry room, directly below where you were sitting." Sam cast his eyes downwards, "They said if you'd been in there much longer you just might never have woken up!"

Dean shook his head, uncomfortable at Sam's obvious distress.

"Jeez, dude. If it's not enough with freakin' ghosts, vampires and demons after my hide, now it's the freakin' plumbin' too!" He rested his head back into the pillow, breath now labouring.

"Sam, stop with the scratching, leave your arm alone." He growled menacingly as he eyed the miraculously appearing chopstick with extreme distaste, before his gaze tracked across to the door as it reopened admitting an older doctor followed by the small nurse.

"Aah, hello. Good to see you back with us…I'm Dr. Walton. How're you feeling, Mr Holden?" He inquired, "Nurse Rains here assures me we can get rid of these restraints now."

"I'll be good, Doc. I promise!" Dean laboured, grimacing. "I'm feelin' just fine. When can I get outta here?"

The doctor laughed softly. "Let's not jump our guns just yet, Mr Holden. Your levels are coming down nicely but there's still a long way to go yet." He indicated to the nurse, "Let's get him hooked back up first, then get those straps off!"

She moved to Dean's side and clamped the heavy mask back into position. Immediate relief showed on his face as the pure oxygen again flowed into his airways.

"I'm afraid we have to use the heavier mask, its got special valves to prevent rebreathing exhaled breath." The doctor apologised, "Not the most comfortable but it does the job. Now let's get these off!" Amiably he indicated to the restraints.

Dean visibly relaxed as his arms were freed, laying back rubbing both wrists.

The doctor picked up the charts noting the readings. "We'll need to keep you on pure oxygen for another couple of hours, at least and then we'll see how you get on with reduced levels. Fortunately, it seems you've responded very well to the oxygen therapy. If you hadn't, we were going to fly you up by the lakes to our specialist centre, for some hyperbaric oxygen treatment in a high pressure chamber." The doctor paused, noting the look of horror that flickered over his patients pale face. "However, if all keeps going well, there's no reason we can't discharge you tomorrow."

Smiling apologetically, he turned to Sam. "However, we do need to make you aware of the possibility of some serious long term side effects or sequelae. These can occur days or sometimes weeks after an acute poisoning."

"Mr Holden…Dean?" He continued, fixing his patient with a no nonsense stare. "So far you're making a very positive recovery, all your readings are good. No signs of renal failure, your heart and lungs are responding well. Hopefully we caught you early enough to reduce the chance of any major complications." He paused as he placed the charts back on the side.

"But be aware there can be complications! Some of the common problems you need to be on the lookout for in the next few weeks include difficulty with higher intellectual functions, irritability, gait and/or speech disturbances, short-term memory loss and depression."

He pulled a selection of leaflets from his pocket, handing them over to Sam.

"Don't worry too much, some people don't get any side effects, you just need to be aware. There's a lot more information in these pamphlets, if you have any questions I'll be back before I go off duty." He nodded to them both as he turned to leave with the nurse in tow. "Try to get some rest."

Sam quirked an eyebrow, catching Dean's eye, "Thank You, Doc, I'll keep an eye open for any problems." He glanced over at his scowling brother as the door closed behind them. "Irritability, speech/gait disturbances, higher intellectual malfunctions! Dude, it sounds like you on a good day!"

"Leave it alone, Sammy. Don't even think it!" Dean glared as Sam's smile grew.

"Ooh, there goes the irritability!…What, dude?" Sam asked, the gleam in his eyes betraying the apparent innocence of the question.

"Get outta here, Sammy. I'm tired." Dean growled. "Go get me some clean clothes, and a coffee, I really need a coffee. A big coffee." He sank back into the pillows. "I wanna be outta here first thing tomorrow."

"It's tomorrow already, dude." Sam peered at his watch, rolling tired neck muscles. "Get some rest, I'll be back first thing in the morning…Clean clothes, coffee? Anything else?" Sam inquired as he approached the door.

"Yeah, Sammy, where's my stuff? Pass me my wallet will ya?" Dean asked quietly

Sam looked around, locating the small still coffee dampened pile of belongings on a table by the end of the bed. "There you go, phone, billfold, ring and amulet - I'll leave them all there, right next to the bed."

Dean reached out and retrieved his wallet. "Dude, it's wet, what's this? What happened…? I didn't…?" Dean looked up with horror written across his face.

Sam shook his head, laughing gently. "No, Dean. You didn't." He paused, "It's coffee. I um…I was bringing you a cuppa coffee, then when I saw you lying on the floor, I, aah, guess I dropped it, then ended up draggin' you through it to get you outta the washroom. I don't know if your jeans'll make it, they're pretty trashed. I'm still covered in it too!" Sam looked down at his stained, dust-ingrained clothes, smiling apologetically.

Dean looked his brother over, noting for the first time the coffee and bloodstains, the gravel dust marks and the dark smudges under his eyes that betrayed the exhaustion he struggled to hide. "Sammy, go get some rest, you look like hell."

Sam lifted an eyebrow, "Yeah, right back at ya, dude." He turned to go, "I'll see you in a couple of hours. You'll be all right? You need anything else?"

"Nah, I'm good. Be careful if you go near that freakin' laundry room, make sure you prop that door open. You hear me, Sammy?"

"Relax, Dean. Get some sleep, I'll be careful!" Sam's voice trailed behind the slowly closing door.

The damp wallet lay heavy in his hand as he watched the door close to, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He rested his aching head back against the pillow, eyes closed, reliving in flashbacks the nightmares and memories that had so recently escaped the confines of his defensive walls.

Sighing, he flipped open the billfold, thumbing through to lift out the two dog-eared, slightly coffee-stained photographs that nestled at the back.

The first saw nine-year old Sam, laughing and care-free, sitting on his fathers wide shoulders, both of them grinning and waving happily at the camera as they celebrated Dean's fourteenth birthday. Dean savoured the memory, through eyes that prickled and stung, a rare day free from the obsession of hunting, spent in the park, in the cold, just playing ball.

His hand reached up to run shaking fingers through his coffee matted hair, the ache surrounding his heart threatening to overwhelm him. Pulling in deep oxygen laden breaths he glanced back down, hesitating briefly before revealing the second image.

The rugged, lined face of his father stared back up at him, sporting three days worth of stubble and a beer bottle raised in salute. A wry smile, frozen now for all time, softened the hard lines around the eyes and mouth. A nameless bar in a forgotten town, the picture taken to mark Dean's last birthday spent in his fathers company. Sam away at Stanford, they were in between hunts and Dean had snapped the picture with his new phone, catching his dad unawares. Printed out months later when they were searching for John. Dean realised with regret, it was the last picture he'd ever taken of his father.

He stared longingly at the photograph through eyes swimming with unshed tears. His thumb reached out to gently stroke the beloved profile. Beneath the mask he bit his quivering lip, breaths hitching around the lump that was lodged, like a boulder, in his throat. With shoulders shaking against the sobs that now engulfed him, Dean slowly closed his eyes against the tear-blurred image of his father and let go. Pressing his head back into the soft pillow, he gave in to the tide of emotions that washed over him.

Exhaustion claimed him as sobs gave way to stilted gasps, that slowly gave way to gentle rasps as he gradually slipped into a deep, dreamless, healing sleep for the first time since his fathers' death.

*****

Sam exited through the main doors, shivering as he stepped into the chill of the pre-dawn air. Head clearing as he stretched his long legs and breathed deeply, glad to be free of the confines of the hospital. A brisk twenty-minute walk had him climbing the low steps up to the reception of the Far Horizons Motel; a small 'Closed' sign greeted him. He rapped loudly on the door.

Minutes later, lights flickered on as the inner door opened to reveal a watery-eyed Muriel shuffling through in pink velour dressing gown and fluffy mules. "We're closed, can't you read the sign?" She grumbled, peering short-sightedly at Sam as he stood behind the closed glass partition.

"Muriel, it's me, Sam Holden. I'm sorry it's late but I've been down to our room and it's all cleared out and I can't find our washing."

"Oh, Lord. Just a moment, Sam, let me get this door, honey." She hurried round the desk. "Come in, come in!" Muriel stood back admitting a dishevelled Sam.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I brought all your washing up here, I guess I got my chance to get my hands on your brothers 'smalls' after all." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm so sorry…is your brother alright? I've just had the boiler serviced, nothing like this has ever happened before. They've given us the all clear for the boiler, it was the workmen that blocked the main vent with the new boarding"

"Hey, hey!" Sam soothed, "Dean's gonna be just fine, please don't cry!" He pleaded.

"You boys should'a told me I gave you the wrong room keys too. I had ma boy, Elvis, move all your belongings into the 'Hunters Lodge', it's right next door to the 'Strawberry Shortcake Suite'. My poor old eyes aren't what they used to be." She sniffed.

"Hey, that's great, Dean'll be delighted, pink's just not his color." Sam smiled, "He should be released some time tomorrow, I'll save it as a surprise for him. We'll be leaving in the evening, I guess." He swapped the keys for #27.

"Muriel, I'm beat, I'll take the washing, if that's okay and turn in." He yawned widely, "I'm sorry, It's been a really long day!"

Muriel retrieved two large piles of beautifully ironed washing, presenting them to the weary young hunter. "Uh, Sam, honey…I need to know if you're thinking of suing the motel for nearly killing your brother." Muriel raised her tear-filled eyes.

"Um, no. We're not really the suing kind." Sam bit his lip, smiling as he shook his head. "No. Dean's gonna be just fine, maybe a little grumpier than usual. He's never gone this long without coffee before!" He loaded up the wash baskets and struggled through the door as Muriel held it open for him, her relief written plainly across her lined face.

"I'll have my Elvis valet that car of yours when you get back, it's the least we can do." Muriel called after his retreating back.

"Dean'd like that. Thanks. Night Muriel." Sam called over his shoulder.

*****

Sam arrived at 8.30AM with a clean set of clothes and the largest coffee he could find, to discover Dean, still sleeping peacefully. Now breathing easily through a lightweight air/oxygen mask. As he set the coffee and clothes on the side the strident ring tone of Dean's phone disturbed the quiet of the room. He scrabbled to grab it from the bedside table as Dean stirred.

"Hey, Ellen! No, it's Sam, Dean's just erm, in the shower…No, I'm sorry, we've been held up." He paused to listen, "Yeah, we're still coming. We're on our way, we'll be up there in a couple of days at the most." He glanced over as Dean opened bleary eyes, blinking to clear his vision. "Yeah, reception's been bad, we must've missed your call."

"Ellen." He mouthed silently to Dean's questioning brow. "Sure okay, we'll be there as soon as we can. Bye." Sam snapped the phone shut.

"Hey, Dean, how're ya doing?" He smiled; relieved to see his brother's eyes back to full alertness. "I brought coffee!"

"Oh, god. At last! I'm good now! Hand it over, Sammy." He reached out eyeing the large cup with a look akin to lust. He slipped off the light mask, eyes closing in ecstasy as he breathed deeply, inhaling the pungent aroma of the strong black coffee.

*****

Early afternoon saw Dean finally released and standing in the doorway of the 'Hunters Lodge' his eyes roving over the expanse of beige and brown faux suede that lay before him. The room layout identical to #29 but sporting stuffed animal heads mounted on rough plaster walls, where cross-stitches had adorned the neighbouring walls. Cowhide rugs graced the board floors. Empty bandoliers outlined the headboards, spent cartridge cases framed the mirror and photographs of proud hunters next to their slaughtered prey festooned the walls.

Dean shuddered. "Dude, just let me grab a shower and let's split this joint. There's only so many beheaded beasts I can take staring at me in one day. Sammy, did you get my knife from next door?" Dean crossed to the bed, grabbing for his duffel.

"It's right there, Dean!" Sam assured, "Elvis evidently isn't the type to ask too many questions, particularly when they thought we were going to sue them to high heaven! Look, right there, under your pillow. You sure you don't wanna stay the night, it's on the house!"

Dean retrieved the gleaming Bowie, lovingly running his thumb over the razor sharp blade, before placing it into the top of his duffel. "Sammy, I'm going in the shower now, then I wanna hit the road. I'm not sure I could sleep with all this wildlife staring at me." He rummaged for his wash bag, "I may be a while!" He turned wearily and headed into the darkened bathroom, shutting the door as he groped for the light switch.

Sam laughed at the startled "Oh, Jeez! What in holy hell's that?" The door was thrown open as a heavily breathing Dean appeared carrying a life-sized stuffed racoon with paws raised and teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, held at arms length.

"Damn! I am not taking a shower with that…that…thing staring at me! You knew that freakin' monstrosity was in there?" He flung it into the corner and glared at a now giggling Sam. "It's like something from the freakin' Lost Boys." He muttered before turning and huffing back into the bathroom.

"Better watch out for that paranoia and irritability, Dean." Sam laughed at the now closed door.

"Bite me, dude!" Came the muffled reply.

*****

"Okay…so tell me Dean, just how am I supposed to know if you come down with any of these sequelae, when you already exhibit 90 percent of them?" Sam settled himself into the car, smirking widely as he pulled the heavy door shut. With eyebrow raised he turned and held his cast-clad right hand out for the keys, placing his now well-worn chopstick delicately onto the centre console.

"Leave it, Sammy, and I told you to stop that scratching! There's no way I'm coming down with something I can't even pronounce. Now quit ya bitchin' and concentrate on the driving." He grouched angrily, glaring at Sam who sat happily ensconced in the driver's seat.

"And while you're at it, don't you go having any of your freaky psychic visions whilst you're at the wheel!" He continued grumpily, "You damage my baby and they'll be hell to pay. You hear me, Sammy!" He leant back, draping his left arm over the wide seatback, stretching, moulding himself to the well worn leather, moodily eyeing his brother's every move as he set the big old car in motion.

Sam gently shook his head, long bangs flopping forwards into his eyes. "Quit staring at me, Dean." He grinned amiably from the corner of his mouth, flicking a quick glance over at his still pale companion. "It's like, 300 or so miles to the Roadhouse, and _you_ can't drive yet. So just sit back and relax! Deal with it, bro!"

Dean grumbled steadily to himself beneath his breath as he reached beneath the seat, rummaged in the battered old box and then slipped Metallica into the tape deck. He sighed in resignation as he cranked up the volume and slouched back into position.

Sam's gleeful laughter cut through the strident tones, "I don't think so, Dude." Sam shot him a delighted look, "Remember, 'Driver picks the music…Shotgun shuts his cakehole!'" Giggling to himself, he flipped over to the radio searching for the most unDeanlike channel he could tune in to.

Dean glared over to him, hearing his own rules shot back at him, he growled, "That's it, Sam. Get outta the car. I'm driving. Stop the car, Sam!"

"No way, Dean. It's doctor's orders! No driving for at least 24 hours, dude, in case of relapse. That's what he said. So suck it up and enjoy the ride. Jerk!" Sam's chuckle filled the car as he rolled his neck and manoeuvred his tall frame more comfortably into the seat, wincing as the mellow strains of the "Dixie Chicks," blared jauntily from the speakers.

"Oh, god! I'm in hell." Dean shook his head, trying without complete success to hide the smile that played at the corners of his mouth, as he stretched out, relaxing in the only real home he could remember. "Bitch!"

* * * * *

The now gleaming Impala cruised steadily along the black top, hungrily devouring the miles, taillights disappearing into the distance like two glowing eyes hunting in the darkness. The sudden, brief blare of "Like a Rhinestone Cowboy", that rent the night's silence, was conducted by one well-worn chopstick that spun crazy cartwheels as it sailed out of the passenger side window and away into the night.

The End

Thank you for reading and for all the lovely reviews and comments, I hope you enjoyed the story. As ever, I would dearly love to know what you thought of it. Jane


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